


Dreaming

by sequential



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dubious Consent, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequential/pseuds/sequential
Summary: Beyond the portal, Bill finds a use for Ford.





	Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseWithAllHerThorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWithAllHerThorns/gifts).



> (The use is, surprisingly, not sex! Not this time at least.)

The first night after, Ford lays awake all night. Restless, incomplete thoughts chase each other one after the other in his head. Had Bill had a hand in this? He should never have trusted Stan again, after everything. What if Stan managed to get the portal open again after all, and let Bill through into their world? They were lucky Bill hadn’t been waiting on the other side this time. No, Stan would never be able to—

He should be thankful, really, that for once he doesn’t need to force himself to stay awake. He should be glad despite the throbbing in his eyes, the painful dryness that makes him wonder when they’ll start bleeding again. But as fuzziness encroaches on the edges of his mind, dulling his thoughts, he considers giving in. What can he do now, stuck on the wrong side of the portal, waiting for Bill’s minions to find and devour him? 

He imagines closing his eyes, letting Bill back into his mind. He would probably walk Ford straight off a cliff—but he’d probably tell Ford how smart he was to give in, and Ford would be fool enough to enjoy it.

A couple tears prick at the corners of his eyes, soothing the hot dry feeling of them. As the tension eases out of his body through the wet tracks on his face, he can feel himself relax.

It’s a relief when the strange sun of this world begins to rise before Ford can give in. It’s not until another two sleepless nights pass that he realizes that the nagging urgency, always at the back of his mind, is gone. 

—

For the longest time, there’s nothing. Occasionally, triangles flit through his dreams, barely there at the edge of his vision, and once, even, Ford dreams of large black hands and an eye turned vicious tongue, methodically taking him apart. He’s scared, then, but when he wakes and cleans away the shameful remnants of his dream he knows it can’t have been real. No matter how intense the dreams had been, Bill never left Ford with such physical evidence of his presence. Ford’s cock, after, would rest in the crook of his legs soft and dry, as if it had no recollection of the depraved things it had gotten up to the night before.

When Bill finally reappears in his dreams, endless months later, it feels like letting out a breath he’s been holding forever.

“I’m sorry, have you been waiting long?” Bill asks knowingly, his eye curving into a smile. 

Ford’s mood, sickeningly, lifts in its own Pavlovian way at the sight. He’s prepared, though, has probably thought about how this encounter would play out way longer than he would ever admit. This is not the version where Bill tells him it was all a big misunderstanding, and that he’s sorry and still in love with him.

In this reality, Ford doesn’t respond, instead concentrating on sending thick metal chains forth to prevent Bill’s escape. Bill watches lazily as they shackle around his thin black limbs, then twice across the center of his body in a crisscross over his eye.

“You did always like bondage, huh?” Bill asks. “Though I thought you liked being the one in ropes!” Almost, Ford can feel the slither of them constricting in an intricate pattern across his skin. 

“What do you want from me?” he demands, and his breath catching as he realizes the feeling isn’t just in his mind. Bill has materialized actual ropes beneath his clothes, and the knowledge fills him with hot shame.

“What I’ve always wanted, of course,” Bill answers, batting his eyes. Each time, they open upon a scene of the two of them—Ford on his knees for Bill, Bill brushing hair out of his face, Ford giving himself entirely.

Ford’s hands clench into fists, and he can feel the tension all through his body. “You’ve never wanted that.”

“Oh, but I have. I still do,” Bill says, idly, his eye returning to normal. “It’s not my fault you misunderstood what it was, Sixer.”

The ropes tight around his chest constrict Ford's breathing ever so, huffs of breath shallow and heartbeat starting to race. “And what was that?"

“Power,” Bill says, and then large, thick tentacles shoot out to grab Ford. 

Before they can, Ford pushes back with the thought he’d been holding in his mind, throbbing and gathering power. _Show me what Bill is planning._ It breaks like a dam, the chains around Bill shattering as Ford loses his mental concentration on them, but, as Bill’s eyes open wide, the scenery around them flickers.

In a moment, they’re dropped into the shack, which has since transformed. The underlying skeleton remains the same, but the detritus of Ford’s experiments have been replaced with… what seems to be a gift shop.

 _Stan!_ , Ford realizes with a start. Almost simultaneously, Stan himself bursts into the room, his eyes focused on something beyond Ford. He actually looks—good, for once. Thriving. Before Ford can decide whether to feel bitter or glad, darkness closes back in like a door slamming shut. 

“That was a naughty trick, Stanford,” Bill says, rising up slowly, menacingly, from the floor. This time, when Ford tries to constrain him again, the chains twist back on themselves and then wrap around his own torso and throat. 

He wakes up, gasping, and only after a moment of confusion thinks to release the tight grip of his hands around his neck.

—

Perhaps Bill is sulking, or perhaps he’s simply busy with whatever it is he’s doing with Stan. Ford doesn’t see him again anytime soon, though reminders of him are ever-present in the wanted ads that keep him on the run in most dimensions, and the occasional monsters that chase after Ford or torment him. Even without these, Ford’s own mind does a plenty satisfactory job of tormenting itself.

Forefront in his mind is the thought of Bill and Stan. Mostly he’s scared, of what Bill will do, of what he will make Stanley do. 

When he’s at his lowest, starved and cold and hidden away in a tiny crevice that his pursuers will surely discover him in, he thinks that they deserve each other. Maybe they’ll destroy each other as thoroughly as they have him. 

Bill comes to him on one such night, breaking his way into a dream where Ford is tied up, helplessly forced to watch as Bill torments Stan with tender touches. He’s mixed himself a complex cocktail of arousal, fear, jealousy, and some twisted, vindictive pleasure, and is busy drowning himself in it when Bill appears in the air beside him, feet kicked up in the air.

“You didn’t have to do all the work for me, Fordsy!” he says with glee when Ford freezes at the sight of him. “It’s no fun when you don’t put up a fight.”

The words knock Ford out of his shock, and he starts to struggle, even as the ropes around him tighten and transform into snakes. When they sink their fangs into him, the venom fills him with a sense of calm. It settles deep into him as he watches both Bills circle Stan, poking and pulling at bits of him.

Stan, too, is restrained, cuffs on each wrist and ankle holding him spread-eagled. He’s as Ford last saw him, solid muscles under a more recently acquired layer of fat and unruly mullet atop his head. His face looks hallowed and tired, stubble peppering his chin. Only he’s not wearing anything, now, and his cock stands up firm in defiance to his fearful expression.

“Y’know, I don’t think your brother’s quite as fun to play with as you are,” one of them says, prodding a cheek then cheerfully withdrawing it as Stan tries to snap his jaws shut around it.

“Ooh, a biter!” the other crows, promptly correcting this by materializing a gag over his mouth.

“Why are you here?” Ford asks the one talking to him. His ropes have resettled around him, plain and brown, but he’s not sure they’re necessary. The pleasant calm of the venom has made everything more clear. He’s survived this plenty of times before, dream Stan can handle it.

“To see you, of course!” One answers, his attention turning back to Ford. The words wrap around him, a warm blanket. Eventually, he thinks, he’ll shrug it off, but he can enjoy it for now. 

The other Bill materializes a cane and tries tracing it, lightly, against the underside of Stan’s cock. It seems to quiver as Stan grits his teeth, and Ford becomes aware again of his arousal, a pleasant pulse running through his body.

“Stan’s missed you quite a bit too, haven’t you, Stan?” closer-Bill asks. When Stan just glances away resolutely, gag still over his mouth, the other Bill laughs.

“Why yes I have, Sixer,” Bill mimics in a rather terrible Stan impression, using the cane to maneuver Stan’s cock up and down like a nod.

The scene is so strange it makes Ford giggle, feeling lightheaded, as Stan turns redder and his brow furrows further. “I miss you too, Stan,” he says, because who has he to impress here?

“Good!” Bill says, looming up close. “Because it seems your old pal’s having a hard time without you!”

“Or maybe he was always this dumb?” the other suggests, knocking against Stan’s head and producing comically empty noises. 

Ford, briefly, considers defending him.

“You saw how he left your research in a state of disrepair,” Bill continues, “and I’d _really_ hate to see all that hard work go to waste.” Bill circles back to Stan, stroking his face, which is trembling in rage. The other Bill is tracing his nipples with the cane in teasing circles, and from the distance Ford’s eyes seem to focus almost too clearly on how erect they stand. “So, tell me, how do I get this dumb lump of meat working?”

The last sentence stirs something in him, and he begins to come to even as the Bills continue talking.

“Do you get him going with sex?” Bill is asking curiously, finally taking Stan’s cock in hand even as he strains away as best he can in the ropes. The second Bill, now behind him, takes the opportunity to squeeze his ass, making Stan groan aloud even behind the gag.

“W-we weren’t like that,” Ford says, trying to maintain his prior peacefulness. Because he should catch the Bills off guard, he tells himself, though he knows he’s also missing the sudden quiet of his mind.

“Not in this world, then,” one Bill mutters to the other, to Ford’s confusion. “Money?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Ford says, mind now gradually starting up, making coughing and putting sounds as it starts to whir. So Bill _was_ trying to use Stan to rebuild the portal. How could he stall this? “Stanley’s actually very smart, you should just give him some time and I’m sure he will come around on his own.”

The Bills stop for a moment, looking at him, and Ford tries to look drugged.

“Bull. Shit,” they intone, flashing warning red.

Ford pales. “But I think there might be. There might be a girl you can look for that will motivate him,” he manages, and Stan’s head snaps to him, alarmed. The Bills, meanwhile, ease back into yellow, watching him calmly. “I think her name was Sarah McGill.”

“Oh, Ford,” Bill says, caressing Stan again with his cane, and Ford, almost, sighs in relief. “You think you’re so clever!” 

With that, he swings the cane into Stan’s side, making a loud crack. Stan screams, muffled as he is, and Ford’s world comes back to full focus. “Stop!” he shouts, as Bill hits him again, and again, on the back, legs, thighs, ass. He hits him on the head, too, and the screaming turns into whimpers.

“What? You’re the one that stops this,” Bill says, and at first Ford thinks about waking up, ending this terrible dream, but at the first attempt Bill pulls him back in. “Not that, dummy, you just have to tell me how to get through to him.”

A bone snaps, loudly, and Ford thinks fervently about the comic echoing noises Bill had produced from Stan’s head earlier. Nothing but illusions. Stan screams again.

“If you think I’m going to help you open the portal to save a Stan I just dreamed up, you must think I’m dumb as rocks,” Ford spits.

“No, you’re at least as smart as a dog, aren’t you?” Bill asks, eye narrowing wickedly. “If I were you, I’d be cautious of dismissing your Stans so easily.”

The other Bill rips off the gag and Stan starts to plead, “Ford, what’s happening? Help me, I want to wake _up_!”

Ford’s stomach drops sickeningly, and he tries to wrench his mind away again even as Stan shouts “No!” and Bill pulls him back. As he’s distracted, Ford, finally, puts together his thoughts to send Stan back where he came from, and he finally disappears with a pop. 

Bill is wide-eyed for a moment, and then he turns and slaps Ford viciously across the face. His fingers leave five red gashes.

“Ha ha, not real, see?” Ford asks, his knees weakening with relief.

“Not this time, probably,” Bill concedes. “At least, I hope that’s probably not your twin brother that you decomposed into itty bitty atoms,” he says, and then the curtains slam closed.

\--

Bill doesn’t visit him again before Jheselbraum, and Ford doesn’t think about it. He’s gotten through to Stan, of course, so he doesn’t need Ford anymore. He wouldn’t let Ford off this easy, if Stan were—

When Stan finally—actually—does it, his dumb, smiling face welcoming Ford back to the world, the feel of his cheek, solid against his clenched fist, is an endless relief.


End file.
